


The Whole Truth

by MadcapRomantic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Nogitsune, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, everyone picks on Derek, mental health, no one dies and everything is fine, stiles don't take no shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 03:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadcapRomantic/pseuds/MadcapRomantic
Summary: Derek gets hit with a curse that causes him to only be able to tell the truth. The rest of the pack thinks it's hilarious, but Stiles sees the way it starts to eat away at Derek, and he can't help but intervene.





	The Whole Truth

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for Solstice: A Sterek Charity Zine.
> 
> Their Tumblr: https://sterekzine.tumblr.com
> 
> My Sterek tumblr: https://towhomthewolfkingbows.tumblr.com

The darkness of night is chased away by a light so bright, Stiles worries the witch has thrown a _supernova_ at them. It hurts his eyes, even though he closes them as quickly as he can; the light so intense he has to press the crook of his elbow to his face to help block it out. He hears the witch’s laugh echo through the trees before it ebbs away entirely.

The light begins to fade, and Stiles pulls his arm away in time to see it shrink and vanish - _right into Derek’s chest._

The others around him are still trying to blink away the spots in their vision when Stiles rushes toward Derek, who has fallen to his knees on the forest floor. Derek’s face is contorted in pain, and he’s pressing at his eyes with the pads of his fingers, fangs drawn and breath coming short.

“Derek’s down!” Stiles shouts as he skids to Derek’s side and kneels down. The others twist toward him and slowly shamble closer.

Stiles puts one hand on Derek’s shoulder, the other gently pulling away one hand that Derek’s pressing to his face. “Hey, big guy,” he starts, looking Derek over for any obvious physical damage. He’s surprised when he doesn’t see any blood; other than Derek’s frantically blinking, watering eyes, he seems fine. “Are you hurt?”

“A little. My eyes are killing me; I didn’t shut them fast enough.”

“Is it permanent damage, or is your mojo gonna kick in soon and heal it?”

“My eyes are already healing, but I’ve got a headache building that will probably last longer than any retinal damage.”

Stiles feels his face contort, and he turns to Scott with an incredulous look. Considering Derek’s usual monosyllabic responses to questions like Stiles has asked, he’s being downright _chatty_. He turns back to see Derek open his eyes a little wider, squinting like he’s trying to focus his sight. “Are you alright?”

“No.”

Erica and Boyd take a step toward their alpha, and suddenly the woods are very, _very_ quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Isaac asks.

Derek turns to look at him. “Emotionally, I’m stunted. Mentally, I don’t think I’ve been in a decent state in over a decade, and I know I’m in deep need of therapy but am too terrified to find a therapist because I’m certain they’ll tell me everything I already know and fear about my inability to form decent relationships, both romantically or otherwise, not to mention the ridiculous amount of guilt I carry on my conscious for just about every action I’ve ever taken since I started high school.”

If Stiles thought the woods were quiet before, it’s _nothing_ compared to how silent everyone goes after Derek’s admission. Even the man himself looks horrified over what’s spilled out of his mouth.

An idea quickly forms in Stiles’ head. “Derek, what’s your favorite color?”

“I tell everyone it’s black, but I’ve always liked robin’s egg blue.”

“What in the world,” Erica breaths, off to Stiles’ right.

Stiles wets his lips with his tongue. “Were you hit with a truth spell?”

Derek groans, meeting Stiles’ gaze. “Yes.”

 

\---

 

The ride home is _torture_. Erica has found the latest curse-related development to be absolutely hysterical, and takes great pride in wringing answers to absurd questions from Derek.

“What sports did you take when you were little?”

Derek growls. “I did ballet in middle school because it was something I really couldn’t use my werewolf strength for. It helped me with my balance.”

Erica cackles from the back seat. “Who’s your favorite?” she sniggers, and even though Boyd is giving her the hairy eyeball, he’s obviously biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Stiles,” Derek says through clenched teeth.

Stiles’ head snaps to the side, and he gazes at Derek with wide eyes. Up until that very second, he’d been absolutely convinced he’d been near, if not directly at, the bottom of _that_ list.

Erica laughs so hard that she shrieks when she inhales. “Stiles?” she gasps. “Why _Stiles_?”

Derek growls, but the spell obviously compels him to answer. “Because he’s the only one of you to pull more than his fair share of weight - even though he lacks supernatural powers - he’s a surprisingly good cook, and he was the first one out of all of you that I actually trusted.”

And, _oh,_ that little confession does all kinds of things to Stiles’ insides. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t have some witty, smart-ass comment to fire back.

Erica laughs so hard her face turns an unflattering shade of purple.

 

\---

 

They call Deaton as soon as they get home, who reassures them all that while something like a truth spell might stick around for a week or two, it in no way can be made permanent.

Everyone agrees that the best course of action is to just wait it out.

The problem with that idea is how the rest of the pack seems delighted in torturing Derek, asking him ridiculous questions that he has no choice but to answer. At one point, he locks himself in his room for an entire day.

Stiles cooks for everyone that night, a giant pot of red beans and rice, even whipping up a couple dozen cornbread muffins which he knows are Derek’s favorites, although he’s never outright said as much. He brings a steaming bowl and four muffins up to Derek’s room, and waits for Derek to open the door after he knocks.

He chooses his words carefully. “I brought you some dinner; figured you’d be hungry. Sorry everyone’s being jerks about your whole, you know, _situation_.”

Derek takes the tray. “Thank you,” he says.

Stiles notices how tired he looks. “Are you, uh,” he starts, worried about even asking the simplest of questions.

Derek looks at him expectantly.

“Are you doing okay?”

Sighing, Derek turns away, words falling, uncontrollably, past his lips. “I’m trying. Everything is getting to me, and it’s not like my mental stability was good to begin with.”

Stiles fidgets for a moment. “You know, you mentioned therapy the other night.”

Derek glares at him.

Holding up his hands in a placating manner, Stiles takes a half-step back. “Just hear me out. After... After the nogitsune, I went to see someone.”

Derek’s glare falls off his face, his expressive eyebrows crawling up his forehead.

“I found someone through Kira’s mom, a therapist who knows about all this supernatural crap, so I didn’t have to lie about the things I’d been through. I never saw her in person - she’s over on the east coast - but we did video sessions, and, well, it helped. A lot. I could give you her number, if you wanted. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I think it could really help. And, if it doesn’t, you can just quit; it’s not some huge commitment if you end up not liking it.”

Derek’s quiet for so long that Stiles thinks he may have broken him. Finally, he speaks. “Okay.”

Stiles suspects his smile is brighter than the spell the witch had lobbed at Derek in the first place.

 

\---

 

Stiles doesn’t know what they are fighting about, but Derek and Erica are arguing when he walks into the house. He can’t make out what either of them are really saying, even considering how loudly they are yelling, but Derek, finally fed up, flashes his eyes. “You can’t keep using this curse to embarrass and humiliate me!”

And that’s enough for Stiles; he doesn’t care what the rest of the conversation had even been about. He walks directly between the two of them, points a finger directly at Erica, and tells her once, very clearly, “leave.”

She looks like she’s ready to argue, then rolls her eyes, and stomps away.

He turns to Derek, who stands, heaving, like he’s poised to attack. “Pack a bag,” he tells the wolf, who snaps out of his mild daze and makes eye-contact with Stiles. “Few changes of clothes, something warm to sleep in, comfortable shoes, and maybe some books,” he says, and makes a shooing motion toward the stairs where Derek’s bedroom is.

Derek looks poised to argue, but he surprisingly doesn’t. After a moment he retracts his claws and fangs and begins up the staircase.

In thirty minutes, Stiles has packed his jeep full of everything a camping trip needs: a tent, two sleeping bags with matching padding mats, an armful of plastic grocery bags filled with non-perishable and canned food, a portable cookstove, two canisters of propane, and various other items he’d scrounged up from the basement. Derek meets him with a curious eyebrow raise in the driveway, and Stiles just shrugs. “Beats the heck out of sticking around here, doesn’t it?”

“Without a doubt,” comes Derek’s instant reply.

Stiles smiles in return.

The place Stiles has in mind is a few hours away, but the two of them drive in amicable silence. They make a quick stop at a convenience store close to a ranger’s station on their way and get a few gallon jugs of water. They lose cell service shortly after the paved road turns into a gravel one, but neither seem to mind.

Stiles pulls over at one point. “Can you hear or smell anyone around?”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“I want to make sure that no one will bug us,” he shrugs in reply.

Derek rolls down the window and sticks his head out, and Stiles nearly bites his tongue off to keep from making a dog joke, because _come on_. That one’s too easy. But after a moment, Derek eases back into his seat and nods. “There are a few people around.”

Stiles shifts his jeep into drive and keeps going.

Another two more stops like the first before Derek finally sits back and gently smiles. “I hear some wild rabbits nearby, and some birds, but that’s it.”

They set up camp. The tent is small, and Derek seems to know what he’s doing, so Stiles leaves him to it and unfolds the collapsable table and sets up the cookstove. There’s already a fire-pit, so he unfolds the canvas chairs before he meanders further into the treeline to gather firewood.

When he gets back, arms full of branches, Derek has finished unrolling their sleeping bags and is zipping the tent up to keep creepy crawlies out.

“Need help?” He motions toward the bounty in Stiles’ arms.

“Sure,” Stiles says, because, honestly, he probably shouldn’t be trusted with matches.

They eat their cans of ravioli around a fire, and listen to the sounds of the forest as night slowly draws a dark blanket over their world. Even through the dense trees, Stiles can see the stars shining above them. “Can’t get a view like this in the city,” he says, after a spoonful of tomato and pasta.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

Derek’s question pulls Stiles’ gaze down. He looks at Derek’s expression - slightly tight, maybe a little worried - and takes in a deep breath before he speaks. “I know what it’s like to be stuck in your own head, for the words that come out of your mouth, with your voice, not to be your own.”

Derek’s expression starts to sadden, but Stiles turns his head away before he can catch too much of it. He eats the last of his ravioli before he tosses the can into their trash bag. He brushes his teeth, and bids Derek a quick goodnight before he changes into a pair of sweatpants in the privacy of the tent. He curls into his sleeping bag, his hoodie smelling faintly of campfire smoke, and he tries to fall asleep.

He doesn’t know how long he just lies there in the dark, but eventually Derek puts the fire out and climbs into the tent, too. Being a werewolf, he apparently doesn’t need a flashlight, and Stiles hears him change his clothes in the dark. He’s still and quiet as Derek shuffles around for a bit, listening as the man curls into his own sleeping bag.

Stiles is actually starting to drift off when he vaguely thinks he hears Derek whisper the words, “thank you.”

 

\---

 

Derek is already up and has the fire going when Stiles wakes up. “I can hear running water nearby,” Derek tells him, obviously hearing him shuffle around the tent. “Wear something you don’t mind getting wet in; I wanna swim.”

And of course Derek is right; maybe three quarters of a mile away from their campsite is a stream. While it’s not too deep, it’s fairly wide, and it’s _cold_ , colder than Stiles would like. It feels nice all the same, provided he doesn’t stay in too long at a time.

As they are drying off in the sun, Derek leans toward Stiles and scents the air. “Is your soap and deodorant unscented?” he asks.

Stiles nods. “I figured with how sensitive all of your noses are, it’s only polite.”

Derek chuckles. “It’s appreciated. I don’t think I’d really noticed before.”

Taking a deep breath, Stiles sighs. “I’ve, uh, been off my Adderall for a while now, too. Don’t know if I need it anymore; it feels more like a crutch than anything. Still carry it with me, just in case, but I’ve been without it for... yeah, a while now.”

“I’ve been talking to that therapist,” Derek blurts, and Stiles almost gets whiplash with how quickly he turns his head. Derek blinks at him a few times, face strategically blank. “I just. You shared with me. I thought it was only fair.”

Stiles smiles. “Is that the game we’re playing now, Hale? Truth or dare, but just the truth part?” he teases, which earns a smile from Derek. “I sing in the shower.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “ _Everyone_ sings in the shower.”

“I sing _Taylor Swift_ in the shower.”

Derek groans, but it dissolves into a laugh. “When no one is home, I binge-watch shows on Netflix. I’m halfway through Castle, and that’s only because I finished Bones.”

Stiles _cackles_. “I have a poster hanging on my wall that’s covering a hole from when Scott and I were horsing around. It’s been there for two years, and my dad still has no idea.”

“I’m in love with you.”

The words hit Stiles like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. His mouth hangs open, and he knows he must look so stupid, just sitting there and gaping at Derek, but, well, he hadn’t really been prepared for a truth-bomb like _that._ “Oh,” he whispers, dumbly.

Derek looks like he’s going to bolt at any second, and Stiles know that he has to do something. Slowly, so Derek can pull away if he wants to, Stiles leans over, crowds into Derek’s space, until they are close enough that they are breathing the same air. “That’s, uh, that’s good,” he stutters, trying to sound braver than he feels.

“It is?” Derek whispers back at him.

“Well, I mean, I’d feel like _such_ an idiot if I was the only one of us in love with the other.”

Derek kisses him, there in the forest, surrounded by trees, warmed by the sun, and it’s perfect in every way Stiles didn’t realize something as simple as a kiss could be.

They spend the rest of the day, and much of the night, sharing kisses and secrets, and Stiles thinks it’s the happiest he’s ever seen _anyone_ , let alone _Derek_.

Morning comes, and they pack up their campsite between stolen kisses. They are past the ranger station and back onto the paved road when Derek turns his phone back on. It chirps immediately, and he plays the voicemail message waiting for him. The volume on the phone is loud enough that Stiles can hear it.

 _“Hey Derek,”_ Scott's voice greets. _“I’m letting you know first that we caught the witch and Lydia did a banishing spell. Deaton says that the curse should be lifted. It’s, uh, Wednesday, so it’s only been a day since you and Stiles took off, but I figured you’d want to know ASAP. Uh, yeah. I’ll call Stiles, too; you guys can come back whenever you want. See you both soon.”_

Stiles heart kicks up. Derek hasn’t been compelled to tell the truth in _two days._ A million thoughts begin to race through his mind...

But everything is put to rest when Derek reaches over and rests his hand on the top of Stiles’ thigh.


End file.
